Venli attuned Anxiety, then Confidence, then Anxiety again. She walked to her mother and sat on the stool next to her. Jaxlim projected Confidence, even when doing something as simple as weaving. Her complex skin pattern of wavy red and black lines was among the most beautiful in the camp—like true marbled stone. Eshonai took after their mother’s colorings.

Venli, of course, took after her father—primarily white and red, her own pattern more like swirls. In truth, Venli’s pattern had all three shades. Many people claimed they couldn’t see the small patches of black at her neck, but she could pick them out. Having all three colors was very, very rare.

“Mother,” she said to Excitement, “I think I’ve discovered something.”

“And what would that be?”

“I’ve been experimenting with different spren again. Taking them into the storms.”

“You were cautioned about this.”

“You didn’t forbid me, so I continued. Should we only ever do as we are told?”

“Many say we need no more than workform and mateform,” her mother said to Consideration. “They say that courting other forms is to take steps toward forms of power.”

“What do you say?” Venli asked.

“You are always so concerned for my opinions. Most children, when they reach your age, start to defy and ignore their parents.”

“Most children don’t have you as a mother.”

“Flattery?” Jaxlim said to Amusement.

“Not … entirely,” Venli said. She attuned Resignation. “Mother, I want to use what I’ve learned. I have a head full of songs about forms. How can I help wanting to try to discover them? For the good of our people.”

Jaxlim finally stopped her weaving. She turned on her stool and scooted closer to Venli, taking her hands. She hummed, then sang softly to Praise—just a melody, no words. Venli closed her eyes and let the song wash over her, and thought she could feel her mother’s skin vibrating. Feel her soul.

Venli had done this as long as she could remember. Relying on her, and her songs. Ever since her father had left, seeking the eastern sea.

“You make me proud, Venli,” Jaxlim said. “You’ve done well these last few years, memorizing after Eshonai gave up. I encourage you to seek to improve yourself, but remember, you must not become distracted. I need you. We need you.”

Venli nodded, then hummed the same rhythm, attuning Praise to be in sync with her mother. She felt love, warmth, acceptance from those fingers. And knew whatever else happened, her mother would be there to guide her. Steady her. With a song that pierced even storms.

Her mother returned to her weaving, and Venli began to recite again. She went through the entire thing, and this time did not miss a stanza.

When she was done, she waited, taking a drink of water and hoping for her mother’s praise. Instead, Jaxlim gave her something better. “Tell me,” she said, “of these experiments with spren you’ve been doing.”

“I’m trying to find warform!” Venli said to Anticipation. “I’ve been staying near the edge of the shelter during storms, and trying to attract the right spren. It is difficult, as most spren flee from me once the winds pick up.

“However, this last time I feel I was close. A painspren is the key. They’re always around during storms. If I can keep one close to me, I think I can adopt the form.”

If she managed it, she’d become the first listener to hold warform in many generations. Ever since the humans and the singers of old destroyed one another in their final battle. This was something she could bring her people, something that would be remembered!

“Let’s go speak with the Five,” Jaxlim said, standing up from beside the loom.

“Wait,” Venli said, taking her arm and attuning Tension. “You are going to tell them what I said? About warform?”

“Naturally. If you are going to continue on this path, we will want their blessing.”

“Maybe I should practice more,” Venli said. “Before we tell anyone.”

Jaxlim hummed to Reprimand. “This is like your refusal to perform the songs in public. You are afraid of exposing yourself to failure again, Venli.”

“No,” she said. “No, of course not. Mother, I just think this would be better if I knew for certain it worked. Before causing trouble.”

Why wouldn’t someone want to be certain before inviting ridicule by failing? That did not make Venli a coward. She’d adopt a new form when nobody else had. That was bold. She wanted to control the circumstances, that was all.

“Come with me,” Jaxlim said to Peace. “The others have been discussing this—I approached them after you asked me before. I hinted to the elders that I thought adopting new forms might be possible, and I believe they are willing to try.”

“Really?” Venli asked.

“Yes. Come. They will celebrate your initiative. That is too rare for us, in this form. It is far better than dullform, but it does affect our minds. We need other forms, despite what some may say.”

Venli felt herself attuning Excitement as she followed her mother out of the tent. If she did obtain warform, would it open her mind? Make her even more bold? Quiet the fears and worries she often felt? She hungered for accomplishments. Hungered to make their world better, less dull, more vibrant. Hungered to be the one who carried her people to greatness. Out of the crem and toward the skies.

The Five were gathered around the firepit amid the trees, discussing offensive tactics for the upcoming battle. That mostly equated to which boasts to make, and which warriors to let cast their spears first.

Jaxlim stepped up to the elders and sang a full song to Excitement. A rare delivery from the keeper of songs, and each stanza made Venli stand taller.

Once the song was finished, Jaxlim explained what Venli had told her. Indeed, the elders were interested. They realized that new forms were worth the risk. Confident that she would not be rejected, Venli stepped forward and attuned Victory.

As she began, however, something sounded outside of town. The warning drums? The Five hastened to grab their weapons—ancient axes, spears, and swords, each one precious and passed down for generations, for the listeners had no means of creating new metal weapons.

But what could this be? No other family would attack them out here in the wilderness. It hadn’t happened in generations, since the Pure-Song family had raided the Fourth-Movement family in an attempt to steal their weapons. The Pure-Songers had been thoroughly shunned for that action.

Venli stayed back as the elders left. She didn’t wish to be involved in a skirmish—if indeed that was happening. She was an apprentice keeper of songs, and was far too valuable to risk in battle. Hopefully whatever this was, it would be over soon and she could return to basking in the respect of the elders.

So it was that she was one of the last to hear about Eshonai’s incredible discovery. Among the last to learn that their world had forever been changed. And among the last to learn that her grand announcement had been utterly overshadowed by the actions of her reckless sister.

I approach this project with an equal mixture of trepidation and hope. And I know not which should rule.

—From Rhythm of War, page 1